Seize the Day
by shywr1ter
Summary: Jim had a feeling that Robert Herrick never imagined his poem being read quite the way MacKenzie read it.


_Disclaimer: no profits made. Mac's infamous quote is from "__To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time," by Robert Herrick._

A/N: I'm not new to fanfic, but I've never tried writing _The Newsroom_ before, or any Sorkin show, for that matter. I'm too enamored of his dialogue to think I could write it, and too intrigued with his characters to think I could do them justice. But with S2 just a week away, I have been obsessing about the show for a couple weeks now, and suddenly this appeared. It's sort of a sideways entry into their world, and I have no idea if it's on the right track.

I welcome and appreciate all comments - would love to know if any of this works!

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**SEIZE THE DAY**

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_Gather ye rosebuds..._

_**While. Ye. **__**May.**_

That damned second line kept running around in Jim's head, an earworm that had finally been put to rest several days after Mac last demanded it of him - until she reminded him of it again not five minutes ago, punctuating her point with a pillow ripped from under Will's head and pounded over his, yelling at him with that bordering-on-hysteria quality, that _near-desperation,_ that had taken him unaware those first weeks he'd first worked for her, nearly three years ago now.

He supposed it was something about her voice, and the accent, of course. Still, he hadn't realized where it came from, his suspicion early on that she'd suffered some loss and was there to bury it by immersing herself in the most desperate and dangerous of places, balancing on the brink of an emotional outburst every once in a while at seemingly random events.

"Do you want to end up like _us?_"

It all would have been comic, her actions and words, to someone who didn't know that she and Will had a history; it would have been comic to damn near anyone who didn't see the fear in Mac's eyes, the remaining worry for Will's health now taking a back seat to her anguish that he was pursued by his own demons, mixed up in a potent cocktail of antidepressants, recent unreasonable criticism and ...

... and _Mac_.

Jim sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall, gently, as he waited in the hall outside Will's room. He knew from her schedule and her words to Will earlier she would be heading back soon, no matter how much she wanted to stay there with him, so Jim would be there to hail them a cab and ride back with her and let her vent whatever had her so on edge this time. It was the least he could do, Jim figured.

When he'd first signed on with her, he was so green ... she'd seen something in him and with that fierce, emotional, determined way of hers she walked right into some of the most dangerous places in Iraq and Afghanistan, dragging him along and teaching him more about the news and life and death and _living_ than he'd ever imagined existed. She seemed wiser than her years, as emotional as a diva, and driven beyond reason, moving from town to town and unit to unit as they imbedded with different companies in different towns, different battlefronts. Mac's passion and fire seemed boundless, and he wondered what drove her, what had sparked that focused thirst for knowledge in her. On two different occasions, when relatively safe turf let them kick back and have a couple drinks at the end of a long week, Jim tried getting her to open up, to confess to him what drove her, what haunted her, why with her credentials she had exiled herself to such bleak, desperate conditions. He couldn't quite remember what she'd said, since he knew right away she was making up what she thought he'd want to hear.

And then they came home, and then to New York. And ACN. And News Night.

And as soon as he saw Mac make eye contact with Will, he _got_ it.

Jim didn't know it all; none of them did. There were plenty of rumors and Mac's over-the-top reaction when she e-mailed the world about Will's faithfulness to keep them going. Most thought they could guess what might have happened. But Jim knew there was more.

In the months he'd been there, he could almost_ see_ the sparks rolling off them. He saw the way Mac watched Will, transfixed, when he was knocking it out of the park on a story; he saw the way Will sometimes watched Mac fondly, with an amusement and affection he didn't wear otherwise, when she stormed away from him in the frustration of the moment. Jim watched as they both did their best work in concert, as they finished each other's sentences and had the same thought at the same time.

He might not know the details, but knew that Will still suffered from those wounds, and that Mac lived her life every day looking for a way to turn back time. He hadn't understood what drove Mac until he made it back to the States with her, and made the move to New York with her for this job. Suddenly, so much of what had driven MacKenzie McHale in both Iraq and Afghanistan, and what had been behind her desperate insistence to "gather ye rosebuds _While. Ye. May,_" became clear.

Jim rocked his head forward, anticipating, as he heard her voice a bit more clearly now, her steps moving closer to the hallway as she chattered her encouragement to her star, her co-worker, her battered soul mate. Jim would make sure Mac got back to the studio and back in the control room; he'd get her through the show, even with Jane sitting in, so she could come back to the hospital. The look of near-desperation had become too close to the real thing ever since Will got sick, and it wasn't going to go away until she got him back in his chair and back in the fight.

Just because she was more energetic and manic than Will, it didn't mean that her wounds were any less deep. Maybe the others didn't see it, but Jim knew Mac.

He stood up, waiting for her.

_Gather ye rosebuds __**While. Ye. May;**_

_Gather ye rosebuds __**While. Ye. May.**_

He hoped she would take her own advice to heart, and that Will would pick that moment to do the same. He hated to think of each of them winding each other up to a frenzy and going supernova, all because their past was so painful they couldn't see that they were still inextricably bound up in each other.

"Gather ye rosebuds, Mac," Jim murmured softly. He wondered if either of them could ever slow down long enough to notice when they were in season...


End file.
